


Crybaby and the Outcast

by starconvoy



Category: The Railway Series - W. Awdry, Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Cousins, Family Drama, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, References to Illness, Swearing, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starconvoy/pseuds/starconvoy
Summary: In which emotions run high between Mallard and Scott. This is meant to take place in 2004 not long after Scott arrived in York (this would be the time when Flying Scotsman was bought by the NRM). The engine was in a state of disrepair at the time which is why Scott is full of aches and pains. What is he crying about in the beginning? A lot of stuff. He’s been through a lot, just leave him alone. humansof-york.tumblr.com





	Crybaby and the Outcast

“Crybaby.”

Scott didn’t raise his head. He knew whose voice that was, speaking in a harsh, demeaning tone.

“Stupid crybaby. Trying to drum up sympathy for your miserable self.”

Scott cracked open one swollen, tear-stained eye and looked at his cousin looming over him, arms crossed.

“Go away,” he said in a hoarse, strained whisper.

“What’s that, crybaby? You want your bottle? Did you miss your nap? Is that why you’re cranky?” Mallard continued mercilessly. He smirked in triumph as Scott finally raised his head and looked at him.

“Go away,” Scott repeated, his voice a little louder.

“Why should I let a brat get what they want?” Mallard asked, giving Scott a nasty look. “You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted before so I’m putting a stop to it now.”

Scott’s fists curled tight on the tabletop. He looked away, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. He was a mess, he knew, but what did it matter at that point? Mallard wasn’t going to offer him any sympathy.

He never did.

“To think that you could just show up here after gallivanting the world, now sick as a street dog expecting us to take care of you. This isn’t the golden days, Scotsman. They don’t help washed-up celebrities, you know.”

Scott was trembling with anger. The tears were flowing freely again down his reddened cheeks. He bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out.

“You’re a miserable fuck-up, you know that? I can’t believe Sir Nigel Gresley put so much faith in you to represent the LNER for all those years. And now you’re going to be the face of this museum? Don’t make me laugh,” Mallard spat.

Oh, what that poor man would say if he knew the words coming from Mallard’s mouth. Scott was visibly shaking now as Mallard leaned over him, taking in his tattered old uniform and his worn, broken figure.

“Look at you. All that fame and glory gone to waste. It’s no wonder the Westerners called you ‘over-rated’. I never thought I’d agree with them, but it turns out they were right all along.”

Scott turned his head and tried to lean away. His stomach gave a nasty twinge and the usual ache burned at his back.  _Just let me rest…alone._

“Why did you ever come back? You should have stayed away. No one wants you here, least of all me.”

Scott already knew Mallard didn’t want him here, but his previous words were the final straw. He turned quickly, finding his face inches from his cousin’s and soon his fist went flying straight into Mallard’s face.

Mallard cried out as he fell backwards, completely caught off-guard and knocked off balance. He crashed into another small table, knocking it and a couple of chairs over. Scott shakily stood as Mallard hit the ground, an audible snap ringing through the air followed by a wail of pain. Scott stared down at Mallard who was curled up in a fetal position, holding his left arm. His knuckles burned as they began to bruise, but it was going to be nothing compared to the bruise that would form on Mallard’s face.

“Shut up, dammit. Do you ever shut up?” Scott said in a low, shaky voice.

Mallard looked up at him, wincing in pain. “Bastard.”

“I thought I was a ‘crybaby’!” Scott roared at him, making Mallard jump. “I thought I was a ‘stupid crybaby’ and a ‘brat’, but now I’m a ‘bastard’? Which is it, Mallard? Which is it?!”

In spite of the pain, Mallard still managed a smirk. “I guess it’s all three.”

Mallard’s piercing scream of pain stung Scott’s ears as his foot made contact with Mallard’s broken arm. Once he finally calmed a bit, Scott could hear his quick, shallow breaths. He leaned over Mallard’s prone form, now curled into a ball to protect himself.

“I don’t know why I ever still considered you my cousin. You’re nothing but a fucking jackass. You act like you ruled the railway back in the day and you act like you’re still in charge. No wonder your siblings want nothing to do with you. You know they’ve practically disowned you at this point? I don’t blame them. I would rather be dead than be directly related to you,” Scott said, his voice dangerously low.

In truth, he found no satisfaction in seeing Mallard lying there, bruised and breathing hard as he supported his broken arm. Scott would have had much more satisfaction not seeing him at all.

“You’re the one who should leave,” he began, his voice growing darker. “I’ve heard the other’s talk about you. You think they didn’t prepare me for the things you would say? They all hate you as much as you hate me. You, the great Mallard, Sir Nigel’s beloved son. Bullshit. You’re an outcast and to me…that’s a lot worse than being a ‘crybaby’, ‘brat’, or ‘bastard’.”

Mallard opened his mouth to reply but the door suddenly shot open.

“What’s going on?!”

Scott straightened up. Arrow stood in the doorway, his shorter frame outlined by the light from the hall.

“Nothing, Arrow,” Scott said quietly, walking away from Mallard. “Let’s go.”

“W-wait, Scott, but weren’t you talking to—”

“Leave him. He’s not worth your time,” Scott said as the pain in his stomach returned. The adrenaline rush was gone now and his nerves were on fire. He slumped against the doorway, feeling himself grow weak.

Arrow looked between Mallard who was attempting to sit up and Scott leaning against the doorframe. Thinking quickly, he rushed towards Scott and took his arm to support him.

“Let’s get you lying down. The doctor’s said you shouldn’t be up.”

“Yes well…a certain nuisance decided to come visit,” Scott groaned through gritted teeth.

Mallard, still trying to steady his breathing had managed to heave himself into sitting position. “This nuisance was hoping to get you to leave.”

“Shut your mouth or I’ll break your ribs!” Scott yelled over his shoulder as Arrow guided him away.

Arrow pulled him back into the bedroom he was assigned and sat him down on the bed. Scott collapsed onto the pillows, hissing in pain. Muscle spasms shot through his back and he could feel his legs beginning to ache again.

Arrow shook his head. “Scott you shouldn’t listen to him. Mallard’s been having a hard time accepting–“

“No,” Scott said forcefully. “No…he’s not accepting anything,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “He doesn’t want me here and…I’m not so sure I should be here.”

Arrow shook his head furiously. “Scott, we’ve all been waiting for your return! You’ve been gone for so long…everyone could hardly believe it when they announced you were coming here.”

“I should have stayed away,” Scott said, closing his eyes.

Before Arrow could respond, another person ran in the room asking about Mallard. Scott’s brain was too foggy to determine who it was and Arrow quickly shooed them out before closing the door.

“Scott, please…we’re happy you’re here. I’m happy you’re here. It’s been so long…I feared we’d never meet again.”

Scott half-opened his eyes and looked deeply at Arrow’s worried expression. “That makes one of you.”

Arrow hung his head and sighed. Scott closed his eyes again as Arrow got up and left. Once the door closed behind him, Scott opened his eyes.

The anger still swirling in his chest brought tears to his eyes again. He wanted to wipe them away, but his arms felt like lead and he couldn’t raise them to his face. His right hand was beginning to stiffen as well. It was amazing how easy it was to do such damage to someone who was in much better shape them him. Not that Scott was looking forward to doing any more physical damage to Mallard. He wanted to stay away from him…

That was it, Scott thought as he rolled on his side, facing away from the door. Running the rail tours would mean he would be out of the museum every day during the open hours. He wouldn’t have to see Mallard at all.

He winced in pain as he tried to shift into a comfortable position. Oh, but the aches and pain…Scott only hoped he could push on for long enough.

He drifted off to sleep with that cloud of anxiety over his head and dreamt of Mallard spitting nasty labels in his direction. It wasn’t the best sleep, but it was still very much needed.


End file.
